Significant Figures
by T'Pring
Summary: Wounded, alone, and pursued by ruthless bandits, John must depend on his team to figure out the clues he's left for them.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: The leaves have finally turned colors out here in the belly button of the USA, so a fall story seemed in order. The word you're looking for is: frolicking. That is, if frolicking means wounded Sheppard fighting bad guys in a deserted forest. And I SWEAR I started this story two days before "Missing," so I don't wanna hear no lip about stealing the bolokai. This stand-alone story takes place sometime in season 1-3, just because...it does.

"Significant Figures" is a math term referring to a method of rounding. (don't be insulted, I had to look it up!) I simply like the term for the pun it brings to the story below.

* * *

Running. He was still running. Keep going. Stick to the plan. 

His fingers were sticky and his shoulders ached from running awkwardly with his hand clamped over the hole in his belly. The hand clenched, and a soft gasp escaped as his feet staggered on the rough, dry, cracked ground underneath the thick, colorful layer of crunchy leaves. He couldn't see the ankle twisting rocks and knee jerking grooves of hard earth under the deceptively smooth natural carpeting. _These leaves are killing me,_ he thought disgustedly, regaining his balance. Then he almost laughed at the absurdity of the phrase.

No, the blood he was still losing in seeping rivulets of wetness, and the bullet still embedded inside in guts somewhere, THEY were killing him, he admitted ruefully.

He clenched his hand again, feeling the saturated fabric of the balled up hem of his t-shirt slip over blood-slicked skin. He needed to find a better bandage - hell, he needed to find _a_ bandage - he needed to put pressure on the wound and try to stop the bleeding. A distant shout, and the unmistakable noises of several pairs of heavy feet also tramping through Autumn's refuse behind him quickened his staggering feet. The accompanying surge of yet another jolt of adrenaline convinced his protesting heart to keep up to the task of pushing what volume it had to work with into relentlessly moving legs. He needed to stop. He had to keep running.

He'd taken the bullet from a distance and at a run. He'd rolled a couple of times from the shock of the impact...then he'd kept running. He'd been running since. _At least it doesn't hurt much_. The thought was only ironically comforting. He hadn't had time to feel anything. He couldn't afford to feel anything, he added to himself, hearing more shouts. They were gaining on him.

His mind was almost hyper-alert, another useful side effect of adrenaline, and he scanned the forest ahead of him for some route that would offer him safety, or refuge, or - if worse came to worst - a defensible niche to crawl into. He jumped a small creek that crossed his path and thought briefly of turning down it's trickling bed to look for an overhanging bank or to make use of the ankle deep water to hide his up-to-now obvious path through the leaves. Watery mid-afternoon sunlight flickered briefly in his eyes, making him squint as a cheerful beam escaped the thick, but bare, tree branches above him. He kept running, instead, into the sun. Due west. Straight line.

Stick to the plan.

_It wouldn't work, anyway_, he remembered eventually. They were using McKay's scanner to track his transponder.

He looked at his watch and found it harder to do the math than it should. When he finally convinced his mind to translate the meaningless numbers on thewatch's face into the schedule it should represent, he felt the first flutter of fear. _Had it only been that long?_ It felt like he'd been running for hours, for weeks. Not yet. He couldn't go to ground yet. A little more time. The shouts grew closer.

The Stargate lay at his back. Southeast. They would wonder why he was running in the opposite direction. It was the only way, it had been Rodney's only chance. He had no radio, no way to communicate with his team or Atlantis, but John Sheppard knew it didn't matter.

Teyla would figure it out.

* * *

Teyla stepped through the Stargate for the second time that day and found herself morbidly enjoying the carnage that surrounded the portal. This time, the dead and dying laying around them were bandits, not her friends and trading partners from the peaceful village they had originally come to visit. Ronon walked quickly over to her and addressed the second large group of Marines that had followed her from Atlantis. 

"Team two, set up a perimeter and hold the 'gate. We don't know how many are still on the planet, but once we start kicking ass they'll probably make a run for home. Keep your eyes open."

"Hold those that surrender for questioning," Lorne added, shooting a wary look at Ronon. Teyla watched the Satedan roll his eyes in feral annoyance, but Ronon didn't contradict the command. He _did_ flick his eyes in her direction and she offered a sympathetic look. The people of Earth were more...conservative...in their treatment of enemies. It was as tedious as it was admirable.

"The rest of you, follow me."

Ronon set out Northeastwards, down the path towards the village, followed by no fewer than 8 heavily armed Atlantis soldiers. Teyla held back just as long as it took to watch a puddle jumper squirt out of the still flickering 'gate, then lowered her head and took off after the others. The jumper climbed rapidly, forced to rise quickly out of the small clearing the Stargate sat within, then zoomed over their heads in aerial escort.

The air was cool and crisp, despite the mid-afternoon time of day, and the breath from the group of men in front of her rose slightly in puffs of cloudy steam. The trees that thickly bordered the path were bare, hinting at the winter to come, but the leaves on the ground still held their color in cheerful contrast. OnAthos , her people would be busy harvesting and storing the fruits of their summer labors at this time in a planet's cycle. John had called it...Apple Weather...and had reminisced long over a childhood memory of throwing the plentiful Earth fruit at unwary girls in his village. The recollection of the pleasant walk with her team only hours ago suddenly brought a knot of anxiety to her stomach. John and Rodney were still out there, somewhere, in the midst of the bandits who had terrorized the villagers and destroyed their homes. Several had been killed as the bandits took what they wished and burned the rest. The survivors had mostly fled, leaving the bandits to revel in their spoils. Minutes after the comfortable walk,Teyla's team had walked unknowingly straight into the hyena's nest.

The radios nestled in the pockets of the team jogging along the forest floor crackled to life, interrupting Teyla's brief moment of contemplation. "Specialist Dex, this is Major Neglee in Jumper 2. We've got 15 bandits in your general area on the jumper's LSD. 5 at your 10 o'clock, 7 at your 12 o'clock in the village. 3 are moving between the groups. There are 6 more about 5kliks West of us in deep forest. They appear to be pursuing one of our guys, I'm getting a transponder signal from the signature out on its own."

Teyla listened furiously to the intel, trying to piece together the information into a picture of the situation. "Do you see another transponder signal, Major? Sheppard and McKay are both out here somewhere." Teyla had her suspicions on which of their missing men would be running alone from a group of hostiles, but it worried her greatly that her teammates weren't together.

"Negative, I'm only reading one transponder. Sir, should I fly to assist?"

Teyla had quickened her steps and caught up to Ronon and Lorne. They exchanged concerned glances. "Why is Sheppard out in the forest alone?" Ronon asked, like her assuming that it was John who would make such a risky move.

"And where is McKay?" Lorne added.

Teyla shook her head in confusion. "I cannot believe that John would leave Rodney behind without a very good reason."

Ronon threw her a closed look, "Maybe McKay didn't make it."

Teyla refused to accept the terrifying speculation, "No. We _must _assume they are both alive. There has to be some other reason they were forced to split up."

"Perhaps they are together and one of their transponders is malfunctioning?" Lorne chimed in, clearly trying to pose an optimistic suggestion.

"Neglee would see his life signature even without the transponder." Teyla rolled her head in frustration. She was missing something. She suddenly pounced on her radio again, "Neglee, we think the transponder you're picking up is Sheppard. How long before he gets close enough for us to intercept on the ground?"

"He's not en route to the 'gate, ma'am. He's running due West, away from us."

Teyla's eyebrows shot up. He was running away? They had obviously all assumed that John would be running for the 'gate. "He's leading them away," she exclaimed suddenly, fitting the pieces together. "Rodney found a place to hide and John is leading the bandits away from his position."

"Makes sense," Lorne nodded.

"Leading them away from where? We still don't know where McKay is." Ronon's voice was tinged with frustration.

Teyla closed her eyes, picturing the forest, the village and the path in her mind. Due West. John was running West. Why west?

"Neglee. Has Sheppard changed course since you began scanning?" she asked.

"No ma'am. He's going straight as an arrow." Teyla paused again. Again the information was unusual. John was trained to change directions frequently to avoid capture, to throw off pursuit. She added John's course to the image in her mind. The line traced from him back to the path, but did not intersect with the village where she'd seen him last. She stopped walking, completely immersed in furious concentration.

John was leading enemies away from Rodney. Away in a straight line. If they traced that line backwards as she had done in her mind... She pounced on the radio yet again, "Neglee! Are there any structures or buildings or is there anything unusual due East of Sheppard's position? Do you see anywhere someone might take shelter?"

Ronon looked at her with a warily puzzled expression as they waited for Neglee's answer.

"Affirmative," came the Major's voice, sounding excited. "There's a small stone cottage or shed or something well outside the village. Hadn't really noticed it before just now. Looks like a good place to hide out. Pretty secluded."

"That's it," Teyla announced firmly. "Rodney's there. Neglee, can you direct us the quickest way to that cottage?"

"Affirmative, but you'd better hurry. I'm picking up a group of bandits leaving the village heading in that direction. At their current speed, they'll get there before you."

Teyla nodded, turning the mission decisions back over to Ronon who consulted briefly with Lorne. "Jumper 2, intercept the bandits encroaching on McKay's assumed position. Confirm that they're hostiles, then initiate an air strike."

"Yessir." The jumper immediately accelerated away from its hover above their heads, heading North. "Sir, what about Colonel Sheppard. He's still got bandits on his ass too. And I'm picking up a couple of signatures in his path he may not know about..."

Ronon and Teyla exchanged yet another worried look. When Ronon reached for his radio, his hand looked heavy, as if reluctant to initiate the message, "We've got to get to McKay first. Sheppard left him behind for a good reason and we can't let the bandits get there first. We'll get to Sheppard as soon as we can."

"Yessir. We're almost over the bandits now." The voice over the speaker was resigned and tinged with a determination to finish the job as quickly as possible.

"Sheppard can take care of himself," Ronon muttered and Teyla wondered just who exactly he was trying to reassure.

Barely a minute of tense silence passed before several muted explosions disturbed the chilly stillness of the forest. "Bandits confirmed and neutralized,"Neglee shouted, "But you've got five coming in on your 12 o'clock. I've not no sightlines, you'll have to take them on the ground!"

"Understood!" Ronon roared back, quickly deploying his forces while still pressing onward. It took another ten minutes of intense combat to fight their way finally to the stone cottage. The jumper stayed overhead in essential air support, calling out targets and warning those on the ground of some bandits who'd tried to camouflage themselves and were lying in ambush. Teyla had never been so eager to hear an "all clear" in her life and she shouted into her radio even as she was finally dashing towards the stone building they had worked so hard to reach.

"Neglee! Go find Sheppard, lend any air support you can offer and pick him up if you can."

"Yes ma'am!" Neglee sounded equally as happy to follow the command, and the jumper was out of sight before Teyla had even dropped her hand from the radio's button.

She slowed down as she drew up to the little building's single, small door and realized she was breathing heavily from exertion and anxiety. Ronon and the others gathered quickly around her and with a nervous deep breath, she placed her hand on the simple iron handle. Lorne nodded, Teyla yanked the door open wide and they found themselves peering, weapons at the ready, into pure blackness. Stone steps led immediately down from the door into what was clearly an underground cellar or tunnel of some sort. Lorne flicked on his flashlight that sat on the scope of his P-90 and illuminated more stairs and a steeply sloping roof. No one moved for a long moment.

"Rodney? Are you down there?" Teyla finally called out hesitantly. There was a long, tense moment of silent waiting.

"Teyla? Is it really you? Because I really would hate to think I was giving away our position right now if it wasn't you..."

Teyla grinned and blew out an enormous breath in pure relief. "Yes, Rodney. It is really me. Are you OK? Are you injured? Can you come up now?"

"No, I'm fine, but... could you come down here first? They're still afraid of the bandits."

They? Teyla shrugged and flicked on her own flashlight, quickly starting down into the blackness, Ronon and Lorne hard on her heels. The steps descended sharply and Ronon had to duck to avoid cracking open his scull on the slanted, tunnel-like ceiling. At the bottom, Teyla felt the space open out in front of her and she raised her light to illuminate the wide, enormously relieved face of Rodney McKay. He stood beaming and squinting in the sudden light and she returned the wide smile with equal relief. Ronon nudged her from behind and she took another step forward to give him and Lorne room to step out of the stairwell.

Once the room was flooded with the light from three flashlights, Teyla finally looked around and sucked in a startled breath. Six other pale, frightened faces returned her gaze with solemn terror. Rodney quickly walked back to stand next to the young man who was clinging tightly to his young wife. "These are my friends,Aja. Not bandits. You're safe now. We'll help you get offworld to join the rest of your people."

"Yes, of course we will," breathed Teyla, still surprised. She couldn't take her eyes off the four little ones clinging to their father's legs and burying their faces in their mother's skirts. Two little boys and two little girls peeked out at her, their faces painfully somber as they clung to the only security they knew in this dark, scary place.

"So, uh. Where's Sheppard?" Rodney asked at last as no one else seemed to be able to think of anything to say.

Teyla answered with her eyes, and Rodney's narrowed in instant concern. "The jumper just went to get him," Ronon answered.

"He said he was going to lead them away, then double back. Aja brought us to the cellar." Rodney looked awkwardly at the children and Teyla was certain his discomfort was more than his usual dislike of little ones. Sheppard and McKay had put them in more danger by simply being nearby, and Teyla suddenly understood why John would take such a risk as to run alone into deep forest. The littlest began to whimper and tugged at his mother who scooped him up, holding him close to her cheek and murmuring into his ear. "Sheppard didn't like how close thebadguys were snooping around." Rodney added at last, confirming Teyla's thought.

"I can't raise the jumper," Lorne suddenly said, messing with his radio.

"This cellar is shielded. The native rocks around here are naturally high in low-level radiation." Rodney suddenly decided he'd had enough of dark cellars and shouldered his way past Teyla to head up the stairs. Teyla followed him, nodding to herself as another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"So that is why we did not see your transponder on the LSD," Teyla said.

"Yeah, its a good thing, too. Sheppard and I got caught - briefly - and those bandit barbarians took the hand scanner before I could shut it off. They won't be able to get it to do anything else, but I was scanning for transponder signals at the time, hoping you guys had already come through the 'gate, so..." his voice trailed off with a sigh of exasperation combined with relief. Relief at reaching the sunlit surface again, that is.

"So, they could still be using it to track Sheppard's transponder," Ronon growled, lunging back out into the crisp air himself.

"Jumper 2, this is Teyla. Do you have Sheppard?" She spoke into the radio with a sudden, overwhelming sense of urgency.

There was a long, puzzling silence and Teyla turned towards Ronon and Rodney, locking eyes in worry.

"Negative, sirs." Neglee took a deep frustrated breath that they could all hear even over their tiny speakers. "His transponder isn't showing up on the scans anymore."

Ronon kicked furiously at the ground, sending a shower of bright leaves into the air to flutter wildly in brief flight before settling again.

"We've lost him," Neglee said.


	2. Chapter 2

Keep running. Stick to the plan.

Sheppard's breath was coming in ragged gasps, and he felt his whole body cramping up with the relentless motion. His belly began to ache and he pressed the forearm wrapped around the sopping mess of his abdomen even more tightly into himself. He'd taken fire before. A bullet graze usually stung with white hot fire. This was a cold ache, almost icy in its penetrating numbness. He shivered at the thought. Then he shivered because he felt cold all over.

_Nothing unusual about that, he thought_, trying to cheer himself. _It's damn chilly in the fall. _He conveniently ignored the fact that, after running for a solid hour, he should have been hot with exertion. He swiped his brow with his other arm and blinked into the sunlight streaming down from a cold, clear sky. Due West.

One step blurred into another. The steps behind him faded, then returned. They'd stopped shouting, at least. Noisy bastards.

They were wearing him down, he had realized just a little while ago. Biding their time until blood loss and exhaustion dropped him at their feet without them having to lift a finger. They had the scanner. They could just jog along and watch for him to stop moving. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction, he snarled in the desperation of his own mind. He'd crawl into a hole and die first. Transponder wouldn't do them any good then. He'd go where they'd never be able to dig his body out.

A sudden, distant rumbling stopped John in his tracks. Holding his breath briefly he counted three muffled drone impacts before silence reclaimed the forest. It was all he could do to keep from letting out a victorious cheer. They were here! Teyla and Ronon had made it back to the planet and were kicking ass. A weary wide grin split his face and he pushed his exhausted body back into a jog, feeling almost rested as the thought of a warm jumper and a handful of Dr. Beckett's finest painkillers rejuvenated his spirit. He'd keep moving west, to keep up the ruse he had going with the guys behind him, but now it was he who was biding his time. He grinned again with the imagined expressions on the faces of the bandits as a jumper screamed down out of the sky at them, blasting them to join their colleagues in tiny pieces.

Keep running. Plan worked. Time to go home.

"Hold it!"

"Stop where you are!"

_Shit_.

John took a single step further to clear the line of trees, then froze as two bandits backed up their command with gestures from ugly, heavy projectile weapons. For a long moment, John just stood, dazed and gasping. The bandits had been walking along the edge of a rocky slope and John could see the top half of the forest continuing on below, the bottom half obscured by the slope's edge and his angle. So much for west. He'd have had to turn aside anyway.

"Stay there, and don't try anything," one of the bandits ordered. He was a craggy redhead with a bushy, unkempt beard and a dusky red complexion. John rather thought he belonged on a pirate ship rather than traipsing around a forest after runaway Colonels.

John simply stood frozen on the spot, swaying slightly as he tried to blink sweat out of his eyes and clenching his arm around himself even more tightly. The two bandits held their weapons on him warily, looking almost afraid to do anything but point their guns and hope he wouldn't go ballistic on them. John caught a nervous glance pass between them and allowed a low snicker to escape. He'd killed enough of their friends today that, even bloodied and about to pass out from exhaustion, they were actually afraid of him. His reputation must have preceded him.

He needed a new plan.

The second man, younger with short dark hair, but no less rugged, cupped his hands over his mouth and bellowed into the forest, calling to the group pursuing John and looking smug as the distant answering shouts drifted back to them.

"Hi guys," John gasped out, pleased with the way the two men clenched their weapons even more tightly at his sudden interest in them. "You, ah, know the way to the local bar? I seem to have gotten turned around somewhere back there in the forest." The two men exchanged a nervous look. John took a step forward.

"Don't move any closer!" the dark haired bandit said. "Mikah said you killed Lars and Neb with your bare hands." John shrugged. He'd actually had his knife, but he wasn't going to contradict the man holding a gun.

"They were in my way," John said. He forced his voice to sound cocky, confident, but his body was beginning to shudder and he was beginning to realize how dangerous it was to stop moving. He'd been able to hold shock and pain at bay by running. Standing still was giving all his damaged systems a chance to protest. If he stood there much longer, he might not get himself moving again at all.

Come on, John!_ Figure it out!_

He needed to keep moving. He needed to get away from these guys. He needed to get the others behind him off his ass, too, or they'd have him before Ronon could get here. 

He looked at the edge of the slope and swallowed hard. He really hoped it wasn't as steep or high as it looked from this angle.

With a sudden lunge, untelegraphed by breath or even a flicker of the eyes, John leaped at the two bandits, closing the gap even before they'd so much as widened their eyes in surprise. Choosing his destination precisely, he landed between them, reaching for the dark-haired one's arm as they both pivoted towards each other trying to track him with their weapons. John simply wrapped his sticky, blood encrusted hand around the bandit's and crushed the knuckles holding the gun with painful ferocity.

The gun went off, and red-beard crumpled in a heap, killed by his own companion's gun. The younger bandit exclaimed in horrified fury and began to struggle, making a grab for John with his other arm, but John just lowered his shoulder into the man's chest and shoved him backwards one step, then another. The man's feet began to slip on the very edge of the rocky cliff-slope and John took one more deep breath, shoving with both feet.

The bandit yelped in surprise, then almost gracefully pitched backwards off the ledge. John lost his own footing as the resistance against his shoulder was suddenly gone, and he tumbled over too, rolling with the bandit down the gravel hill then feeling himself in freefall as the slope straightened vertically. The ground came rushing up at him, and all he saw before a final dull thud of impact was a thick, brightly colorful carpeting of leaves.

* * *

Neglee's transmission sank a knot of furious terror deep into Ronon's stomach and he kicked at the leaves in frustration. 

"Maybe he just found a place to shelter, like we did. Any natural cave or even a deep overhang might shield the transponder." Rodney was immediately at the ready to offer an optimistic explanation.

"I know," grunted Ronon. That wasn't what worried him, at least not too much. He wouldn't believe that the transponder had shut down as a result of Sheppard's death until he lay eyes on his friend's body and felt the missing pulse for himself. But Sheppard also wouldn't just go to ground and hide. Not when rescue was so close, and Ronon _knew _that Sheppard knew they were here - those drone blasts had echoed for miles. No, if Sheppard went to ground, he was in trouble of some sort, and THAT was what was worrying Ronon. Maybe he hadn't been able to shake the pursuit?

"Jumper 2, are there still bandits in the area where you last saw Colonel Sheppard's signal?" Ronon was grateful for Teyla's quick questions. He was still struggling with too much anger to think clearly yet.

"There are five signatures headed back East from out that way. They're clumped together and moving slow."

"Must have given up?" speculated Rodney. "Sheppard found a way to shield the transponder so they gave up and headed home."

"There were 7 of them out there earlier," Ronon growled. Rodney gulped. Sheppard was more than capable of taking out a couple of bandits, even alone and unarmed. But it notched up Ronon's worry even further - perhaps the battle hadn't gone well.

Teyla wasn't finished, "Neglee, can you determine Colonel Sheppard's most likely last position?"

"Sure, we already traced the Colonel's route out as far as I think he could've gone. There's a pretty steep ridge that runs for several miles across his path that would have turned him to the side had he made it all the way there. We're skimming the ridge now, I thought we might get a visual if he had been running along its edge." Ronon heard the apology in Neglee's voice; if Sheppard were out in the open - and alive - they would see him on the LSD. For some reason, the thought of Neglee looking for a dead Sheppard fueled Ronon's anger further. It was unreasonable, but it felt like betrayal. Before Ronon could snap a reprimand at the Major, Neglee suddenly was speaking again.

"Sirs, I've got a visual on a body out here."

"A Bandit?" asked Teyla hastily, desperately hoping for the answer they all needed to hear.

"Looks that way," Neglee answered. Teyla and Rodney sighed in relief. "He's a big redhead. Dressed like the others."

"Major, can you land and search the immediate area? If Sheppard was there, he may still be nearby." Ronon was feeling the agitation of impatience. He was ready to get out there, to begin the search.

"Nah, I got nowhere to land. The trees are really thick here, and this ridge looks like the border of a rocky river valley, it's even more overgrown than the forest above. I can't even see to the bottom of the slope in this light."

"Understood." Ronon suddenly whipped around to face the team of Marines, deciding it was time to take action. He gestured at Aja and his wife who were standing quietly together just outside the cellar doors, each holding a small child. Lt. Walker held the two oldest, one on each arm, and was bouncing them into the air, laughing with them when they giggled and squealed. "Lorne, pick a couple of men to escort these people to the Stargate. The rest of us are going after Sheppard."

"Yessir." Lorne jerked his head at Walker who, still grinning, pointed at his buddy Jones. The two Marines soon had the family moving towards the Stargate and safety.

Ronon watched them go, giving the remaining men a moment to settle their gear and ready themselves to move again. He made one last sweep with his eyes around the group, resting last on Teyla who's expression was equally eager and determined.

"Move out," he ordered, turning his face into the watery sun that was slowly dropping towards the horizon.

Ronon set a fast pace, squinting as he walked. Several of the men pulled out sunglasses or unfolded caps to protect their eyes from the flickers and occasional penetrating beam of intense late afternoon sunlight. The little gesture of the lieutenant running next to him - a simple flick of the pocket flap and shimmy of the shades over squinting eyes - reminded Ronon of Sheppard's preference for glasses over a hat or visor, and the knot of anxiety sank deeper into his chest. Every step they took was a step Sheppard had also taken - by himself and with bandits on his tail; the thought sped his feet even faster, and the group shifted from a quick walk into a slow jog. Not a man grumbled, every one of them feeling the urgency of the search. The jumper skimmed the length of the ridge for a few more minutes, then returned to join them in aerial escort.

Thirty minutes and about halfway to their destination McKay, wheezing and gasping, finally succumbed to the unpleasant exertion and blurted out a petulant, "Holy Cow! How far did that man run for crying out loud. He said he was going to double back! Not double the record for the longest escape route ever!"

"The bandits must have had other plans," Teyla chided, her usual humor absent. Rodney must have heard the edge in her voice because he resisted further complaints, although the muttering coming from his general direction increased in ferocity as they ran on and on.

The dull monotony of placing one foot in front of the other was interrupted with heart-jolting abruptness when the Marine on point suddenly froze, holding his fisted hand at shoulder height. The rest of the Atlantian soldiers froze just as suddenly, every weapon in ready position, every eye keenly scanning the seemingly empty forest around them. The lead Marine pointed into the forest, signed the code for enemy and looked at Ronon for a command. Ronon understood.

An instant later, the receiver in Ronon's ear crackled to life as the jumper radioed. "Sir, you're getting close to that group of bandits that's returning to the village. They're about 400 yards on your 3 o'clock. They haven't changed course, so I don't think they've spotted you."

Ronon only nodded, maintaining silence. That soldier has good eyes, he thought. Making sure he had the attention of everyone in the group, Ronon sent Lorne and the rest after the bandits with a few concise gestures. Lorne added a few of his own, then the six men stalked off towards their unsuspecting targets.

Ronon, Teyla and McKay - leaning heavily on his knees and trying to catch his breath - stood still for the few minutes it took Lorne's strike team to engage the bandits, and then set off again towards Sheppard's assumed last position the instant they heard gunfire erupt. Lorne and the jumper would catch up, and Ronon didn't want to waste a minute getting to the site himself.

It took another 20 minutes to reach the long, sharp drop-off of stone and gravel that the Jumper had spotted an hour before. Neglee guided them North along its edge to reach the spot where the dead bandit lay. Refreshed with a new surge of anticipation and concern, the team raced towards the body, loudly calling Sheppard's name as they went. Only the rustling leaves answered and Ronon was beginning to realize that Sheppard wasn't just hiding nearby, waiting for them to show up and pop out with a smirk and a smart-mouthed comment about how long it had taken them to get here. He supposed he'd known that already; Sheppard would have flagged down the jumper if he was just waiting on them. The thought was not comforting, and the continued absence of his friend suddenly snapped into sharp focus as they neared the sprawled, still form of the bandit.

"Jumper 2, relay a message to Walker at the Stargate. Have them contact Atlantis and put a med-evac team on standby."

"Right away, sir," answered Neglee and Ronon nodded to himself even as Teyla and Rodney turned to stare at him in puzzled shock. Ronon returned the looks with a serious expression.

"There's no reason Sheppard shouldn't be waiting around for us to pick him up. He knows the bandits left an hour ago. He's either not here or..."

"He is injured and unable to make contact," Teyla finished, wrapping her arms around herself as they drew up and stood solemnly around the red-headed bandit.

Ronon crouched, studying the body and the ground around them carefully. The bandit had been shot through the heart at very close range. He had fallen where he lay, dead before he hit the ground. Ronon touched the rocky soil at the bandit's feet; there had been a scuffle and...three sets of prints were overlapping in the dirt within a small area. He brushed away the leaves that had drifted over the site in the intervening hour, and stood up to get a higher perspective. The struggle seemed to have worked its way close to the slope's edge.

Teyla and Rodney wandered away a few steps, and Ronon could sense them peering into the forest around them, still somehow hoping for a glimpse of Sheppard against all reason...and against all fear. Teyla moved closer to the dropoff, tilting her face into the wind. A sudden sharp gasp yanked Ronon out of his studies to turn hastily towards her.

"Ronon..." her voice trailed off and she just pointed down the slope to the ground below. Rodney raced to her side, freezing in equal tension as he also looked down.

"Oh...no." The scientist's voice was soft with shock.

Blood rushed to Ronon's head as he joined them and followed their shocked gazes. Part fury, part horror, part screaming hot grief flooded his chest and he dropped to one knee, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the howl of rage that longed to escape.

A figure lay sprawled on its stomach far below on the forest floor, half-buried in leaves and looking almost peaceful in its utter stillness. The face was obscured, but the leather jacket was painfully familiar, the trim tailoring obviously of Earth style and obviously unlike the rough, woolen dusters the bandits all wore. A single, ragged hole in the middle of the jacket's back was visible even from the top of the ridge, the puckered edges interrupting the otherwise smooth surface of the leather. A shock of dark hair lay motionless against a bright pillow of fall colors in stark contrast.

Sheppard.


	3. Chapter 3

John hit the ground and yelped at the sharp jolt of pain that accompanied a sickening crack. He immediately curled into a ball and cradled his wrist against his chest, panting heavily, unable to stop the ragged breaths from escaping as whimpering moans. The fresh pain subsided only slowly, and every scrape, bruise, cut and wrenched muscle seemed hell-bent on communicating its status in excruciating detail to John's overwhelmed mind. It was several minutes before he was finally able to crack open his eyes and try to figure out why he was lying in a leaf pile and why he hurt so damn much.

The blank, dead eyes of the dark-haired bandit lay staring at him, only a few feet from his own face, and John startled, scrambling upright and shoving himself away until his mind caught up and he realized that the man was no longer any threat to him. The strange twist to the man's body and the odd angle of the man's neck ensured that this bandit, at least, would never torment children again. Blinking with relief, John tried to calm the pounding of his heart, then realized that the fast, light-headed flutter wasn't fading. He sighed, wrapping his arm around his damp middle again, and wincing when doing so jolted the freshly broken wrist.

He was in bad shape, but he was alive. And he still had work to do.

Stick to the plan.

Groaning as he pushed himself up to his knees with his good arm, he spared a nervous look at the rim of the slope above him, fearful he'd see those guys with the scanner pointed at his chest and a gun pointed at his head. He'd never be able to outrun them now, so he had to shake them off, instead. Being a bit tired, and therefore lacking a more original plan, he'd decided at the top of the ridge to try the oldest trick in the book.

He knee-walked over to the bandit, studying him for a brief moment before jerking clumsily at the man's coat - a long, wool, duster-style garment that felt scratchy and rough to John's fingers. It was hard, awkward work rolling the man enough to pull the buttons open and tug the coat off with one hand. In the end he managed with brute force and desperation. He next carefully shrugged out of his own, beloved, leather jacket and sent a silent note of thanks that the guy had landed on his face; it would be much easier to put John's jacket on in that position, and there was no need to be tidy. The back of a jacket was the back of a jacket.

Sweat was dripping in his eyes again, despite the chill of the air and the persistent feeling of cold settling into his abdomen, when he finished switching the jackets and sat back for a moment to look at his handiwork, staring with something like vacant curiosity. The jacket looked good enough. Pants were similar color even if the style was all wrong. Dark hair. It could work. He brushed a few leaves over the legs to obscure the difference in slacks.

A sudden shout from above him jerked his head skywards again, and he froze in a confused moment of panic. What was he supposed to be doing? He was so damn tired.

Oh yeah, bad guys with scanner coming soon. Somehow finding the energy to move, he clumsily dug out a hole in the deep layer of leaves right next to the bandit, then sat down, sweeping the leaves back over his legs, then over his middle. He built up a large pile on his lap, suddenly feeling like he was 9 again and laying an ambush for Susie Miller and Jessica Brown at the bus stop. He grimaced at the memory. Susie had tattled and he'd gotten his worst whippin' to date. Just because that crabapple _accidentally _hit her on the nose...

He inspected the leaves over his boots, making sure they were thoroughly covered, then laid back into the trench. It was a rather unfortunate motion considering the swiss cheese nature of his abdomen and he almost cried out from the sudden stab of pain that jolted through him from from hip to pounding chest. He lay gasping and trying hard not to writhe or disturb the carefully placed camouflage. Another shout echoed off the tops of the trees around him and John gritted his teeth, finally managing to sweep the pile of leaves off his lap and over his face, snaking his arm back underneath and leaving him completely covered. He hoped.

Pinholes of light filtered through the jumble of colors over his face, and a stem tickled him, causing him to twitch and wrinkle up his nose, finally blowing at the offending leaf with a puff of air. A small avalanche of pebbles skittered down the slope to land with rustling plops among the leaves, and John froze completely, squinting through tiny windows of visibility. He thought he could just make out the ridge above, a dark line of shadow against the bright clear sky and treetops beyond. A small silhouette leaned out against the sky, looking down - straight at him.

"Ivan?" called a voice. "You down there?"

_Ivan. So that was the dead guy's name. _Another silhouette joined the first, then a third. John held his breath, terrified that they'd see his ruse for what it was. He'd wanted to watch from further away, to stay out of firing range, but he had to stick close to the bandit, or they'd see his transponder signature sitting a little too far away from the body he wanted them to believe was him.

"Hey, Zoar. That guy's down there!" There was a brief pause. One of the silhouette's bent over a bit.

"Yeah, that's him. The little dot's sitting right there, too." John almost sighed in relief. They wouldn't know that a transponder shut down after a short time once its battery wasn't being recharged by bio-electric something-or-other-rodneyesqe. Dead guy. Dot. They were buying it. _Move along, please_.

"Looks dead to me, musta taken a bad fall."

The voice belonging to Zoar grunted, then there was a loud report from a noisy projectile gun and a powerful thud into the ground a few feet from John's shoulder. _Holy Shit! _It took everything John had to keep from jumping in reaction, and his heart spiked, pounding wildly in time to his sudden ragged breathing. There was another grunt from above.

"Yeah, he's dead. Is now, at least. Where's Ivan?"

"I don't see him down there. Hey, is that his coat?"

John's heart almost stopped, having no ability to go even faster. The coat. He'd left the bandit's coat sitting in a heap next to the body. If they got curious enough to come down looking for their guy, he was dead. He'd have to run, he thought, then his belly moaned an icicle of protest. He couldn't run. He'd have to go to ground, which meant it would be a hell of a lot harder for Ronon to find him...

Zoar grunted yet again, something he seemed good at, and his silhouette disappeared from the edge. John was just barely able to hear his reply, "Nah. That's just a rock. Ivan must've gone back the way he came. We'll catch up with him at the village. I'm sick of this damn forest."

There was a muffled thump as something landed on the ground nearby, presumably thrown from the ledge above.

"We're getting the hell offworld before nightfall," Zoar grumbled.

There were other grunts of agreement, and soon the ridgeline above John was clear of bandits and the forest was silent again.

John closed his eyes in relief and lay under the leaves for a long time. He was so tired. And cold. And his stomach hurt. And had he mentioned he was cold?

A violent shudder snapped John out of semi-consciousness with a jolt of alarm. He'd almost dozed off, he'd been more than halfway there, in fact. What had disturbed him? Clenching his teeth and taking a few deep breaths to work up his courage, he finally sat up, wrapping both arms around himself in reaction to the motion. Leaves fell off his face and shoulders, leaving him only half buried in crunchy color. He was sure he'd heard something. His gaze automatically went skyward to the ridge.

A cry of joy was halfway out of his throat when the blessedly familiar hum of a jumper drifted down to him from it's flightpath high above the treetops. John just caught the reflection of sunlight against the jumper's oddly tubular metal fuselage...and then it tooled on by, the hum fading as swiftly as it had appeared. The cry died on John's lips.

They hadn't seen him? Why the hell hadn't they seen him!!

Righteous indignation got him to his feet where mere survival had been unable to accomplish it. He stared at the sky for a long moment, then dumbly looked around him for some explanation. His gaze first fell on the bandit and he gulped at the bullet hole neatly squared between the jacket's shoulder blades. Good thing Zoar was a good shot. John's nest of leaves was only a few feet from the bandit's back. He looked away in disgust. He'd really liked that jacket...

He turned slowly and ran his eyes along the bottom of the cliff again and an oddly regular shape caught his attention among the jumbled angles of surrounding nature. He shuffled over and hastily scooped up the pearl-cased hand scanner, looking up at the ridge in ironic wonder. Apparently, Zoar had seen no more use for the device and had chucked it over the edge. Lucky John! He didn't know how it was going to help him quite yet, but he was glad for any advantage.

Eagerly keying the touch-screen, he set it to scan for lifesigns, childishly hoping he'd see a row of dots charging his way in glorious rescue, nervously fearing he'd see five dots of bandits returning to check out the coat after all. He saw nothing. John waved the scanner around, over his head and down at the ground. Still nothing. Not even his own dot? Fully recognizing the hysterically pathetic nature of the act, he none-the-less pushed his fingers into his own neck, feeling for a pulse that would confirm that he was, in fact actually alive. He felt like death, it wasn't such a far leap to wonder if he actually was.

He next keyed the device to scan for transponder signals, realizing that his hand was shaking as he held the little box, and that the case was getting all smeared up with dark, drying blood. Still nothing. He didn't get it. The bandits had seen his signal. That had only been 10 minutes ago, tops. Still feeling ridiculous, he held up his arm - trying hard not to move the broken wrist at all - and pointed the device inches away from the spot where the tiny transmitter was hidden under skin and muscle. His shoulder twinged with a dull ache at the motion, and he glanced briefly at the sleeve in puzzlement before the tiniest flicker of a dot appeared on the screen then faded again, no matter how close he held it to his arm.

Getting a sudden idea, he palmed the scanner and gently poked at his arm. The resulting flare of pain drew a hissing breath from between clenched teeth, and he rubbed even more carefully to feel the extent of the deep bruise that was no doubt blooming in black-and-blue glory under the long sleeves of his black, winter uniform shirt. He'd landed hard on the whole arm, breaking his wrist and, apparently, bruising his shoulder badly enough to interfere with the transponder somehow. It had held its charge for a while, then he'd just seen it wink out completely.

Great. Just dandy. No transponder. No lifesign - and he hadn't figured _that _out unless it was the wall of radioactive rock next to him interfering with the signal. No jumper. No handful of Dr. Beckett's finest...

He just stood there. What the hell should he do? The shock and pain and despair he'd been holding at bay for so long felt like a monster lurking behind a door he was just barely able to keep closed. Even as he stood there, the door was rattling and beginning to creak open. He couldn't hold it closed much longer.

The jumper flew by again, further away and only barely audible above the slight rustle of leaves. This time, it seemed to fade into the East and John's shoulders sagged. He didn't even really know for sure if they had any idea where he might be. A standard foot search from the Stargate could take hours to get out this far, and with the scanners messed up...

He shivered, realizing that the thick shade under the trees in the natural valley he'd fallen into was even cooler than the sunlit air of the open forest above. Doing it for something to do, John walked over and put on the Bandit's long coat, forgoing the effort of trying to get his own off the dead guy. It smelled of tobacco and alcohol and bad hygiene and John wrinkled his nose. But it was pretty darn warm. He dug hesitantly in the man's pockets, finding only lint and a disgusting handkerchief that he tossed onto the ground.

Then he stood there again, out of things to do to kill time. He wrapped his broken wrist around his middle and shuddered again, despite the coat.

_Come ON, John. You need a plan! Another...plan.__  
__  
_He forced himself to consider his options.

He could climb the slope and go back the way he came? Nope. His wrist twinged at the very thought.

He could sit here next to a dead guy and hope the foot search from Atlantis would get to him before he bled to death or froze to death in the sure-to-be cold night? Very, _very_, tempting. He could curl up and pass out and simply hope. He was a man with a lot of hope, and a lot of trust in his friends. But he was also a realist, and knew that, at the very least, he'd have to find shelter, build a fire if it got dark. Some water would be nice... or...

He could suck it up and go somewhere, try to get far enough away from the sensor busting rock, or try to find his way back to the Stargate from another route. He sighed. What would Ronon do?

Option number three had the best odds, he decided wearily. If Atlantis was searching from the 'gate, it could be hours, or even into tomorrow before help arrived, depending on how dangerous they decided the woods were at night. With a small, tiny, barely admitted niggle of fear and a slight gasp as his stomach twinged, he acknowledged that he needed help sooner rather than later. If he could get out in the open or get back on the sensors for them to see, he might just get himself to that "sooner" part of the rescue.

John scuffed around in the leaves for the bandit's primitive handgun, pocketing the ugly device once he found it. He knelt cautiously at the bandit's side for a moment, flipping up the jacket and checking the belt for a knife, feeling more relieved than he had expected at finding a simple leather sheath and a dull but serviceable blade. He cut several strips off the man's linen shirt and wrapped them around his wrist. He cut off a large chunk of fabric and wadded it up to press gingerly against the by-now-ancient hole in his belly. He was also pleased so see that the wound had stopped bleeding, profusely at least. His shirt and the skin around the wound were so encrusted with drying, caked blood that the hole itself had been stopped to a slow seep.

Taking one last look at the bandit who looked like him, he paused and cocked his head. He looked up at the rim of the slope, then looked at the man again. He nudged the bandit's arm a bit, tugged on a leg, then grinned, feeling a bit goofy. "Thanks, Ivan!" he muttered, patting the man's shoulder.

He lurched back to his feet, and stood waving his good arm in the air for a long moment in unsteady vertigo. John blinked back the dizziness, swiped at his clammy, damp brow then took a step. Then another. Then he was walking. He wouldn't break any land navigation speed records, but he was moving.

Besides, he thought - as if continuing an argument with himself, or trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing - even if Ronon and Teyla make a beeline for this spot and somehow find the ridge quickly, then he'd only be a little ways ahead of them. They'd find him whether he was sitting here on his butt or not. He thought of Ivan again and almost wished he could see the expressions on their faces as they caught their first sight of the dead man. _Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated..._ They'd find him.

Ronon would figure it out.

* * *

A playful breeze touched Ronon's cheek as he stared at the man on the forest floor far below him. His teammates were equally silent, and for a long time they just stood there. Rodney finally turned his back and paced a few steps away, glaring into the forest with a posture that betrayed anger and as-yet-unaccepted grief. 

Lorne and the Marines jogged up a while later and, getting no response to his greetings from the three standing by the ridge's edge, he raised an eyebrow and bent over to see for himself what they were staring at. Lorne also sucked in a sharp breath, then, shooting a shocked angry look at Ronon, he spun on his heel and began to bark orders to the other men who had also begun to lean curiously over.

"Peterson! Get out the repelling gear. Abramowicz, you've got the medical kit, you're down first. Michelson, radio the 'gate. Have them send the med-evac jumper through ASAP!"

The men jumped into movement amid a chorus of "yessir"s. Peterson had already dropped his pack and was rummaging madly even before Lorne had finished the orders.

Teyla slowly moved away and began to help string the freshly unpacked ropes and climbing gear around tree trunks in the bordering forest. But Ronon just knelt, ignoring Lorne and the others. They were admirable men, he thought. They never gave up. They'd continue rescue and resuscitation efforts until the bitter, hopeless end. It was something he'd liked about Sheppard, too. They all lived by optimism bordering on fanatical denial.

But Ronon had seen death in his young life. Too much of it not to recognize it when he saw it, even from this distance. The man below was dead. He was certain. He knew Teyla knew it too, she went about her work with the melancholy of someone moving to simply keep moving.

Ronon rolled his head and quietly beat his fist into his hand. Then he stood up abruptly, turning his face away at last and thinking he might leave the others and return to the 'gate alone and on foot. Anyone nearby might be in danger when he was finally unable to hold back the rage he felt consuming his very soul. He flicked his eyes unwillingly one last time at the crumpled body below...then startled. Turning back, he put his hand on his hips and cocked his head. He looked harder.

Then Ronon chuckled. The chuckle grew into a guffaw.

Abramaowicz looked at him curiously from his spot on the edge of the ledge about to repel down. Ronon grinned at him, then threw back his head and howled in glee, his laughter echoing off the trees and startling a flock of fowl into flight. Everyone was so stunned, that all activity ceased and the whole rescue team simply stood looking at Ronon who was bent over with mirth, stomping and slapping his thigh.

Suddenly realizing he was the center of attention, Ronon waved a hand in apology, gulped back another chortle and straightened, beaming at the group. He took a deep cleansing breath.

"It's not him," he announced.

"What?" Rodney shouldered his way closer, quick to grasp at any hope.

"That's not Sheppard." Ronon simply watched the reactions around him, enjoying the moment. Every face was skeptical, every face was transformed with hope.

"How do you know?" Rodney was glaring at Ronon and kept shooting nervous looks below.

"Look. Look again...Rodney." Rodney's eyes widened in skeptical surprise. Ronon never used his first name, especially offworld. Rodney looked. Then he dropped his shoulders in exaggerated exasperation, rolling his head back to Ronon.

"I'm. Going. To kill. Him," said Rodney.

"What?!" Teyla demanded. "How do you know that's not John?"

"R. R for Rodney. Or Ronon, I suppose."

Ronon watched Teyla peer over the edge one last time, bouncing on his toes, and heard chuckles break out all around him as the rest of the Marines caught on, too. The figure below lay on his face with one arm lying against its body, the other sprawled out and down, almost touching the leg on the same side that stuck out a bit from the other leg. If you looked just right, the shape of the figure looked a whole lot like the capital letter "R".

"So if that's not Sheppard, where is he?"

"Let's go find out," said Ronon, happily booting Abramowicz off the rope and throwing himself over to descend first.

In a remarkably short time, the whole group was standing around the dead bandit minus Peterson who remained above to watch the ropes and help people back up if they needed it. Lorne sent his guys to scout a perimeter and to give Ronon room to survey the area for clues. Ronon squatted, bending to his task with renewed vigor. Rodney stood at his shoulder, chatting happily.

"So, Sheppard pulled the jacket switcheroo to fool the bandits on his tail?" He asked after they'd confirmed that the face of the man wearing Sheppard's jacket was not familiar to them.

"Looks that way," Ronon muttered, then pointed. "Sheppard buried himself in the leaves, there."

"To give the illusion that his transponder signature was coming from the dead man," Teyla stated confidently.

"So...why aren't _we _picking up his transponder signature?" Rodney seemed to be asking the question of himself, so Ronon didn't answer. He didn't have an answer yet. Instead he walked around to inspect the other side of the bandit, flipping up the jacket and inspecting one edge carefully. Ronon's heart began to speed at the worrisome clues he was finding.

Teyla and Rodney were still chatting softly about transponders and life signs when Ronon stood abruptly. Rodney looked at him expectantly. "So. Where's Sheppard?"

Ronon shrugged, "I don't know. But wherever he is, we need to get to him. Soon."

Teyla quickly picked up on the blooming urgency in Ronon's voice. "What did you find?"

"He's wounded. There's another bullet hole in the jacket, front left abdomen and...lots of blood. Soaked in pretty good. He took fire long before he fell down the cliff. He also cut several strips of fabric off the guy's shirt." Ronon ground his teeth, realizing that he'd made the order to delay the jumper when they first arrived and had first spotted Sheppard. He'd left Sheppard on the run from bandits with a hole in his guts. He fidgeted, trying to force down the guilt.

"Bandages," Teyla breathed.

"Well, why would the man wander off then? Shouldn't he have been sitting here waiting for us. Surely he knew we'd come!" Rodney was sounding petulant again as the old worries resurfaced tenfold.

Ronon shrugged. "If I could walk, I'd try to get to open ground. Somewhere a jumper could see me or I could send a signal. He couldn't have known we'd be able to find this exact spot so quickly."

Teyla was nodding, "Then that is what me must assume John is doing. We have only to trace his steps. If he is wounded, we will easily overtake him."

They were briefly interrupted as the Medical evacuation team flew overhead in a second jumper. "Major ...orne? This ...s Med... three. Do...read?" The transmission was garbled and interference blotted out several words.

Ronon looked at McKay who took his turn to shrug. "This cliff is probably interfering. Radiation." Ronon nodded.

"Jumper three, this is Dex. Begin aerial search pattern. We'll search for Sheppard on foot. Stay in contact."

"Un...stood. Jum...three beginning search pattern." The static cleared for a brief second, then the jumper rose to a higher elevation and began a slow creeping survey of the forest around them.

Rodney was still poking at the hand scanner he'd taken from Lorne and looked up briefly in concern at Teyla and Ronon. "I'm still not getting any clear lifesigns readings. This indigenous radioactive rock is really going to hinder any technology assisted search. I just don't understand why we can't see his transponder anymore. I'm getting the rest of you, even through the interference." He sighed to himself. "Maybe distance is a factor. Maybe we'll pick him up when we're closer..."

Teyla touched Rodney's arm briefly in reassurance. "We'll find him, Rodney."

McKay nodded. "But without the scanners..."

Ronon interrupted curtly, "We'll find him _in time_, McKay." He felt a little bad about shutting down McKay. The man was only worried. They were all worried, Ronon even more so than the rest. He'd seen the massive blood stain on the inside of Sheppard's jacket. He'd seen the bloody fingerprints all over the jacket and the bandit's shirt, left as Sheppard had cut himself bandages. He was feeling that flutter of urgency again. They needed to get to him. They needed to get to him in time, as he'd promised Rodney. Rodney gulped, then nodded.

"Of course. Of course. So. Which way do we go?" Rodney looked around at the group of Marines who had gathered at a silent signal from Ronon and were waiting for the command to set out yet again.

Ronon glanced once down the length of the long cliff wall, then rolled his head at Teyla, locking eyes with her determined, steady gaze.

"West." They said in unison.

"Move out!" Ronon roared. And they tromped off again, turning their faces into the sunset.


	4. Chapter 4

John slogged through the thick leaves, each step dragging in the debris and shushing with annoying crunches 'til he thought he might go mad from the constant noise. He wrapped the wool coat even more tightly around himself, wishing for the 100th time that he hadn't popped all the buttons when he'd yanked it off Ivan.

Keep walking.

Stick to the plan.

It was a stupid plan.

The forest around him grew dimmer and dimmer as he walked, the failing, early evening light combining with denser vegetation to create a dingy gloominess. He'd need to find shelter soon if he didn't find a clearing or some open patch of ground. For the 200th time, he pulled out the blood-smeared scanner and checked the screen to see if his dot had appeared yet. Still nothing.

Frustrated, John kicked weakly at the leaves, stubbing his toes against the rocky soil. Damn rocks. They were still interfering with the signal. He shoved the scanner back into his pocket and kept walking, the tiny tingle of fear growing ever so slightly as he felt his strength failing, his optimism waning. Almost as if to prove the point, a sudden, sharp icicle of pain stabbed him through his middle, and he stopped, doubling over slightly and wincing. He held his arms wrapped tightly around himself until the pain faded and he could breathe again. The monster in the closet of his shaky control snickered, inching the door open another notch. John stood gasping for another long moment, then pushed himself forward again. Keep...walking.

The sharpened ache finally faded a little and John was able to concentrate on his surroundings, his focus shifting urgently to the need to find shelter. There were precious few options in the overgrown but otherwise featureless forest. He thought about simply plopping down next to a log and starting a fire - he had one match in his pants pocket - then suddenly imagined himself running from a blazing conflagration as he realized the leaves piled all around were a forest fire waiting to happen. He'd have to choose a spot for a fire very, very carefully.

He pressed his bandaged arm against the hole in his belly and felt the saturated ball of fabric begin to slip against blood-slicked skin. The wound was bleeding again. He'd have to choose the time for a fire very, very carefully. He had only one match, and probably not enough in him to haul wood all night long.

John peered into the tangle of a fallen tree, looking at the cave-like hole the roots had excavated as the ancient giant had laid itself down. He walked on by. He glanced down the trickling path of a tiny stream he had to step over looking for an overhanging bank or gravel beach he could build a fire on. He crossed and kept on walking. The sun was no longer in his eyes, but he hardly noticed because they were barely focused on anything more than a few feet beyond him anyway. He heard nothing but his own crunching footsteps and even that began to fade into a hum of background noise, drowned out by the silence pressing from inside his ears.

A long stretch of aimless steps passed under his feet when he looked up suddenly and realized that he'd zoned out completely. He stopped for a moment in confusion. Where was he? Was he even still going West? The sun was low, behind the trees. He grabbed for the scanner, peering at the blank grid on the machine's smudged screen. Why wouldn't it work!? What good was the damn thing, anyway. It could only receive information. He needed to SEND an SOS, not sit around waiting for the thing to tell him he was dead because he hadn't found shelter and he hadn't found a way to signal his team.

In a fit of temper, he threw the scanner onto the ground and stalked away a few steps, wincing when the stress of anger and growing panic flared along the spike in his middle. He stopped again, breathing hard and rubbing his eyes. He needed to send a message. The scanner only received information. Or did it?

A sudden idea began to take hold and John scrambled back to scoop up the scanner, looking at it with renewed interest. He started walking again, but his fragile concentration was now on the device. He poked through menus, triggered all the mental commands he knew, looking for some feature that might generate a signal, or make some kind of electronic noise that a jumper could pick up from altitude and distance. He sighed, not for the first time wishing Rodney was there to show him what to do. Rodney would know. If he could only somehow get the thing to talk to Rodney, he could tell it what to do...

John blinked at the crazy path his mind had taken. That made no sense. A scanner couldn't talk to someone. He looked at the screen and saw a little message.

_Initiate data download?_

Huh? Why had it given him that prompt? John struggled furiously to focus, to understand something that seemed just out of his exhausted reach. Data download... Shrugging, John touched the screen for Yes. A new message blinked for a few seconds, to be replaced by "_No device found, download failed. Try again?_" John thought for a moment, then thumbed "Yes" again, this time looking closely at the blinking message. "_Searching for device_" it blinked, to be replaced again by "_No device found..._"

Searching. Searching for device. Was the scanner sending out some kind of request? Looking for another computer to talk to? Rodney linked the scanners to Atlantis' databases all the time...what did he call the thing they did when they hooked together? Handshaking! That was it. Was the scanner sending a request to shake hands...or data...or whatever?

_Try again?_

Yes. What the hell. John pushed the screen, then pushed it again. He started walking again, every so often touching the scanner with his thumb.

_Try again? _Yes.

The next time his stomach flared up in a plaintive protest, John dropped to his knees with the pain, growling in desperate pants to hold it back. One more time he was able to wrestle the demon back under control and he staggered to his feet, putting one in front of the other. Crunch after crunch, step after slow step, his body begging him with pain to stop walking and sit down for a while. He tried not to listen, he knew that if he sat down, he wouldn't get up again. Not without help. But his stomach had a point...he was really, really tired...

_Try again?_ Yes.

The ground under his feet changed texture, and it took him a moment to recognize that his feet were no longer balancing over hard pebbles and jagged rocks, but sinking slightly into soft gritty sand. He took one more step before he snapped his mind to his surroundings. The foot splashed slightly and he hastily pulled his boot out of the shallow water he'd been about to walk into. John looked blearily around.

He was standing on the sandy bank of a wide but shallow forest river. The cheerful babble of the water in front of him spilled over a small rocky waterfall out of a narrow and deep rocky channel a few hundred yards to the north of his beach. It then spread out quickly into the flatter shallower landscape below the falls. At this point, the water chased over rocks and around daring vegetation that had found purchase in the many sandbars and tiny islands within the river's suddenly carefree and vague borders. In fact, for as far as he could see to the south, it looked not so much like a proper river, but a wide swath of swamp that happened to have a current and clear water rather than mud. With a hopeful jerk, he looked skywards, desperately wishing to see clear sky. Instead, the tall, impressively beautiful trees of this part of the forest spread wide at the canopy and stretched across the river, creating a brown network of branches that wove together into a tunnel-like roof over the water.

John sighed, thinking like a pilot for a moment and realizing that, from above, the canopy would look just as impenetrable as the rest of the forest. But there was plenty of room to land a jumper on the beach he was standing on. Someone just needed to tell the jumper all they needed to do was find or burn a hole through the tunnel's thin roof above his position, then they'd have space to spare.

John stood swaying at the water's edge. He really felt like crap. He really needed to sit down before he fell down. Finally, finally giving in to the fatigue, he stumbled back to the edge of the beach, where the ground had first begun to get sandy. The shock and pain and despair he'd been holding at bay for so long writhed with anticipation as it sensed victory. He began to shudder, his hands shaking as he forced himself to clear a patch of leaves away from the sand and dig a small fire pit. He stumbled a short distance back into the forest to an ancient fallen tree and managed to carry a load of sticks and twigs to the beach, returning one more time to drag a rotted chunk of the trunk back as well. He had kindling, he had fuel enough to last...a while. He splashed his face and took a few sips of the cool river water.

Before succumbing completely, John built a teepee out of his kindling and set out a pile of twigs and dried leaves for tinder. He patted his pocket, reassuring himself the match was still there.

Then he set his back against the smooth broad tree trunk that was nearest to his firepit and slid down to the ground, his knees drawn up in front of him. He wrapped the smelly wool coat tightly around him, and cradled his aching wrist against his throbbing abdomen. The forest was not dark, he did not start his fire, yet, but it was dim with the shadows of evening. The leaves lost their color as the light faded, transitioning from fall cheer to winter pallor in the blink of an exhausted, bleary eye. John shuddered harder as shock began to take a gleeful hold, and he tugged the collar up on the coat to wrap more snugly around his neck as well. He pulled out the scanner again and propped it on his lap where he could see the screen and poke the thing without pulling his hand too far out of the warm nest he'd created.

_Try again?_ Yes.

He really hoped it was doing something. Sending some signal or infa-red blast or...something. Anything. He dropped his head on his knees and gritted his teeth as a wave of agony rippled through his body following yet another violent shudder, pain sinking its jaws into him as tenaciously as the shock. A low moan escaped his tightly clenched jaw and he shifted on the sand, writhing with the consequences of holding the monster back so long. He suffered many long minutes of punishment before the wave passed on, leaving him panting and gasping and chilled, even as his face felt hot and flushed. He leaned back against the tree again to catch a breeze on his face, recognizing the heat as the first spike of a soon-to-be raging fever. Great. Maybe he should've kept walking after all. His body was just really enjoying the whole rest-rebound thing too thoroughly. Licking his lips, he touched the screen again.

_Try again? _Yes. _Searching for device. No device found..._

As bad as the pain was, as weak as his body was, he continued to hold the despair at bay. He had a fire when he needed it. He'd found a place for a jumper to land...no small feat in this dense tangle of a forest. He had the scanner. He firmly convinced himself that it was broadcasting some sort of signal as it repeatedly requested a handshake. It might not be as good as an honest to gosh SOS, but if anyone was out there looking they'd see it. He _had_ to believe that. And if anyone saw it, they'd ask Rodney about it.

The next shudder rattled his teeth, and his choking gasps of defiant endurance fell into the babbling water not far away to be quickly drowned. John was nearly unconscious with the effort by the time the pain crested and finally faded for a time. He growled in frustration, mustering his strength while he had the chance. His hand shakily touched the scanner.

_Try again?_ Yes.

And again. And again. Someone was out there. Someone would see it.

Rodney would figure it out.

As the tremors took him again, his courage began to slip ever so slightly.

He just hoped they would figure it out in time.

* * *

Teyla shivered a little and zipped up her jacket another inch as the forest grew dimmer. It wasn't that it was so late in the day as much as it was just more...gloomy. The bare branches were thicker and there were many more evergreen trees casting shadows and blocking the view. She shot a glance at Ronon who prowled through the forest at her left, about 25 yards off, and saw that he too kept looking nervously at the sky and squinting more as the light seemed to offer less and less information to their straining eyes. Beyond him, she could see the alert, wary steps of two more of their companion Marines. They had decided to spread out in a long line, still walking west as quickly as the landscape allowed. Lorne had made the suggestion with a wary look at Ronon, fearing with good reason the man's reaction to the implications of the change in strategy. 

But as they walked further and further, even Teyla herself began to feel they were now looking not for a man on his feet who was in some way also looking for them, but for a man down. The scanners were useless for detecting lifesigns so all they had were their eyes and their ears. Every now and then, a searcher would shout Sheppard's name, and there would be a tense, expectant moment of silence as everyone listened for a reply. They were only ever met by silence.

"I figured out how the radiation is interfering with the LSD," Rodney suddenly piped up at her right shoulder. McKay seemed to take technology's failure to offer any assistance quite personally. Teyla shook herself out of the deep worry she'd fallen into to bring her mind to the statement.

"That's wonderful! Can you adjust for the problem?" Her voice maybe sounded a bit too hopeful because Rodney shot an apologetic look at her and slumped in genuine sorrow.

"No, no. I just... I just understand it now. That, and why we can pick up transponders but the radios are garbled. Oh, and why it's worse here than at the village. It has to do with the - "

"That's great, Rodney." Teyla cut him off abruptly, uncharacteristically uninterested in listening to a rant in technobabble. "I'm sure it's very interesting." Rodney took a breath, then gave up, too worried and anxious himself to really be offended, and they walked on in silence instead. Ronon bellowed Sheppard's name next, and despite telling herself yet again to resist the impulse, she still found herself holding her breath and listening, hoping, praying for an answer. Only silence and the constant shushing of many pairs of feet through deep leaves did so.

When they'd been walking for over an hour, Ronon suddenly flung his arms in frustration at some internal conversation and rolled his eyes when he caught Teyla's concerned glance in his direction. "It's getting dark. Sheppard will look for shelter soon," he replied to the question in her eyes.

"Meaning, finding him will be even more difficult. I know," she sighed. "Jumper two will return soon with reinforcements and lights. We will not stop searching." Ronon nodded, unreassured. The med-evac jumper was still hovering overhead, shadowing them in their slow march across the forest floor. Both jumpers had soon given up an aerial survey - all they saw were trees and more trees. Oh, and the river that crossed their path up ahead, but without the LSD scanners, there was little extra help they could offer.

"That's just strange," Rodney exclaimed, again bursting into conversation as if they had all been just waiting for him to speak. Teyla took a deep breath, forcing herself to find patience.

"What is, Rodney?"

"I keep getting these weird blips on the scanner, then it tries to open a data connection. Keeps failing, though..."

Teyla cocked her head, "A data connection to what? The jumper?"

Rodney shot a look above his head then shook it in negation. "No. It thinks it's talking to another palm scanner." He suddenly shouted down the line of Marines who turned towards him with curiously annoyed expressions, "Hey! Who's messing around with the scanner?" There were shrugs and head shaking all down the line.

"No one?" shouted McKay again, then shrugged himself. Several more weary footsteps passed under his feet and he kept his eyes glued to the scanner, almost tripping over a thick branch as he remained distracted. "There it is again!" He stopped completely and Ronon cocked his hip in exasperation as the line faltered to a complete halt. But Teyla was watching Rodney carefully. He seemed lost in deep thought, as he often did when he was about to puzzle out some difficult dilemma, or think of a creative solution to a problem. She walked briskly over to stand near him, leaning a bit to also look at the screen.

"What have you got, Rodney?" she prompted softly, missing John keenly in that little moment. John was the one who had the right touch with the brilliant, touchy scientist, and it was he who was most often able to goad the man into completing and sharing an important thought.

"It just keeps...popping up," he said pointing to the screen. As she watched, a message flashed briefly in the corner, blinked, then faded. "See?! There."

"What does it mean."

"I don't know. Nothing unless... No that's not possible."

Teyla pursed her lips, forcing calm again, "What's not possible?"

"Something is sending a handshaking request. Over and over. It's not consistent, but, well..."

"Could it be John?" Teyla went straight to the point.

"He didn't have a scanner with him. The bandits took ours."

Ronon joined them, having grown impatient with waiting. "Maybe Sheppard got it back from the bandits," he said succinctly, a gleam of hope growing in his eyes.

Rodney shook his head, "That just doesn't sound reasonable."

"This IS Sheppard we're talking about..." The three teammates shared a significant look, excitement growing in each of their eyes. The enthusiasm that suddenly burned through the group was contagious, and Rodney suddenly grinned and nodded.

"Can you use it to track him?" Teyla demanded.

"Not exactly, but I can probably figure out a...a... Marco Polo kind of thing to let us know if we're at least going in the right direction."

"A...what?" Ronon snapped. He disliked it when his teammates used colloquialisms in urgent situations.

"Marco Polo, you know, hotter or colder or, just never mind." Rodney poked furiously on the tiny screen for a long moment then stood tapping his foot, waiting. When the screen flashed it's little message in the corner, this time the display was accompanied by a graph that Rodney squinted at carefully. He turned a deliberate 45 degrees to the South and waited again. Finally he bobbed his head with a wide grin.

"This way, we need to go this way!" And he took off towards the west, Lorne shooting a look and a shrug at Ronon then jogging quickly after him.

Ronon rolled his head at Teyla, "We were already going that way," he complained, but jogged off after McKay none the less.

They hit the river shortly thereafter and Rodney paused on the bank. The search party gathered around him, their postures expectant, their expressions annoyed. Once the thrill of hope was upon them, they were unhappy to stop moving for any reason.

"McKay?" Ronon growled in warning.

"Just wait! I said it wasn't consistent. If it is Sheppard, he's having to manually send the request over and over. If he gets distracted or passes ... gets distracted, then I've got nothing to work with. It's actually been a while since I saw the last blip."

A nervous ripple went through the group at the suggestion that Sheppard might become unable to continue his SOS and there was a tense hush as the whole group waited. The river ran deep and silent past them. Teyla looked up and down the bank, then studied the land across the ripples. If John had met the river here, he would most likely not have tried to cross it. It looked deep and swift...and cold.

"There!" Rodney shouted, snapping her attention back to the group. Rodney swiveled, then turned to follow the bank to the South.

They trailed the river's edge, a second blip on the scanner finally confirming their course and worrying them with the widening delays. The signals were definitely coming fewer and further apart. They had to concentrate briefly on scrambling down a rocky mini-cliff alongside a frothing waterfall, then they stood staring at the sudden change in the river's appearance as it spread out and grew wide and shallow. The group spread out too, as the also wide beach they walked along offered plenty of room to wander.

Rodney was walking slowly, still in the lead, gazing disgustedly at the scanner and Teyla understood his frustration. There had been no more blips for quite some time. When she saw a line of footprints crossing her path, it actually took her a second to realize what she was seeing. She froze and snapped her concentration to the ground, dropping to one knee briefly. The line of prints led from the river back towards the forest.

She leaped to her feet again, finding Ronon at her shoulder. Their combined excitement was electric.

"There!" She shouted, pointing. A little pile of sticks had caught her attention, the teepee like structure and the cleared pit of sand standing out on the otherwise featureless beach. She ran to the pit, sweeping her eyes around the beach, then back towards the forest. Where was he? Had he left the beach to gather more wood? He was obviously planning to return...

Her gaze finally fell on the huddled lump of brown, curled up against a nearby tree, and she gasped in alarm. The figure was so still, blended in so perfectly with the forest colors, she hadn't recognized it for who it was.

"Sheppard. He's here. Over here," Ronon had also finally spotted their friend and called loudly to the others, but Teyla heard the strangled worry in the tone.

She dropped quickly to her knees beside John, calling his name softly and touching the shoulders that slumped over limp knees. He moaned softly and Teyla's heart fluttered in relief, grateful even to hear a sound of pain over the silence of her fears. She shot a look at Ronon who had squatted down on his other side. The rest also gathered around, Rodney planting himself at Sheppard's feet, bouncing in worried happiness. The rest formed a loose circle, and pulled out their flashlights to illuminate a wide circle in the rapidly fading light at Lorne's quiet suggestion.

"John. Can you hear me? We're here now, we found you. Help is here..." She spoke more firmly and shook him more solidly, finally reaching for his head that she lifted tenderly, eager for the sight of his face. His head radiated the damp heat of fever, warming even the light touch of her fingers. Ronon pressed against John's shoulder and he started slightly, pushing back to lean against the tree on his own. He blinked in confusion for a moment, then looked around in bleary recognition. A tiny hint of a smile cracked the corner of his lips and the relief Teyla saw in his eyes was almost frightening.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi, yourself," Rodney answered, his voice petulant with quite happy relief. "Did you forget the doubling back part, Sheppard? Because I've just spent half the day chasing your sorry self through the woods and you owe me a new pair of insoles. My arches are killing me."

John's grin grew wider, "Aja? Kids OK?" he panted, wisely ignoring what McKay had said, understanding what he'd meant.

"Yes. They're fine. Thanks to you, actually. They made it offworld to join the rest of their people."

John nodded sleepily, closing his eyes and shifting a bit with discomfort. Teyla picked up the hint right away and waved Abramowicz, med kit already open and ready, over to join her.

"You need to let us look at your wound, John." He frowned at the statement, looking almost scared.

"Knew...that was coming..."

He braced himself as Teyla and Ronon gently tugged on John's ankles to stretch out his legs. They let him stay leaning against the tree for now, simply because he'd stiffened up in pain-filled tension at even that slight motion. The arm he'd had resting on his lap flopped to the ground, still clutching the smeared, blood-blackened hand scanner. Teyla unwrapped the coat and John shivered, his teeth chattering. When she spread the rough brown fabric far enough to reveal the shirt and the other arm he'd had tucked inside the coat, she closed her eyes to keep herself from exclaiming in despair.

Ronon growled a vicious Satedan curse, and slapped his hand on John's shuddering shoulder. "Damn, Sheppard. Those bastards got you good."

John's shirt was stiff and crusted with blood from chest to hem, the massive blood stain seeping down into and spreading through into the waistline of his pants. He was pressing a wad of linen against the source of the mess with his linen wrapped hand, both also soaked in bright red. John just nodded, clenching his teeth against another deep shiver, the lack of a quick quip more telling than any admission or denial.

"Temp's high, blood pressure's low. We need to start replacing fluids and get him warm," Abramowicz said earnestly from Teyla's shoulder once he'd finished performing an efficient medical evaluation. "I wouldn't mind some help here, either," he added shooting Teyla a look that was part suggestion, part suppressed panic. She nodded to show she understood his concern, feeling a panic of her own creeping into her chest and speeding her heart.

"I'll carry him to the landing site," Ronon snapped, responding to the obvious tension in the air with ferocious desire to get moving, to solve the problem. They had identified a small clearing a single jumper could just squeeze into, but it was some distance from their current position. It was the best they had.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Abramowicz said quietly, turning to address Teyla sidelong - almost as if he didn't want Sheppard to hear him. "The Colonel has lost a lot of blood and he's in shock. He needs to be stabilized before he's moved."

"Then stabilize him," grunted Ronon.

"I'll do my best sir," the medic said confidently, "but what I had in mind was bringing Dr. Beckett here from the landing site instead of us taking the Colonel there."

Teyla was just about to radio the med-evac team to order just that, when John reached a shaking hand to rest on Teyla's knee. "Jumper can land here," he said.

Lorne took a step closer in sudden interest, as eager as Ronon to pursue solutions, "You have something in mind sir?"

Sheppard nodded, even though his eyes were closed. "Flares...on the beach. Drop straight in. Might lose some paint...but...plenty of room."

Lorne nodded crisply and immediately aimed his light at the canopy above, confirming for himself Sheppard's plan and picking a landing spot that would avoid the thickest limbs. In this case, the lack of leaves was a distinct advantage. Lorne had his flares out and glowing a moment later.

Ronon chuckled and looked at Sheppard fondly. "You picked a good spot to camp for the night," he rumbled in appreciation of the man's resourcefulness.

"Walked...all day...to find it," John grinned weakly, then cringed with a shudder, forcing himself not to curl up again.

"We need to get him warm. Ma'am, would you mind starting that fire there? Specialist Dex, would you help me lay the Colonel down so I can get pressure on that wound and start an IV?" Abramowicz was suddenly all business and neither Ronon nor Teyla were at all annoyed by the young man's orders. Teyla hastily examined John's fire pit, realizing it only had need of a match. She provided the spark and fed the flames more leaves and twigs until the sticks took hold and the blaze was soon crackling merrily. Calling upon a nervously bored Lt. Peterson, she asked him to search for some larger pieces of wood to add to the fire, which he was more than happy to do.

The jumper came screeching and snapping through the canopy only a few minutes later, the craft quickly settling on the sandy beach amid a continuing shower of bark and twigs from its forced entry to the riverbed below. Carson was the first out of the hatch, and Abramowicz relinquished his spot to the Doctor with something like ecstatic relief. The young medic's worry was not lost on Teyla and she found herself wrapping her arms around her shoulders, feeling chilled with more than the swiftly falling night. As the rest of the med-evac team surrounded John, she was subtly pushed away from the efficient bustle to end up standing by the fire, watching in a daze. When she looked up after a while, she found Ronon and Rodney and Lorne also close by, also watching in wary vigil. The rest of the search team had gathered together at another spot on the beach, another fire crackling cheerfully at their feet. There was an enormous sense of waiting in the air.

Teyla found herself watching John very closely, feeling like their long search wasn't quite over yet - like she needed to see him to believe he was actually nearby. Beckett kept up a constant patter of questions and reassurance, partly for comfort, partly to keep the shocky Colonel conscious and alert. John would sometimes nod, sometimes whisper an answer to a question. But Teyla could see the strain on his face, the glitter of fever in his eyes in the rare moments they were open. When Beckett had to address the gunshot wound directly, John writhed and let escape a gutteral cry before clamping his jaw and burying his face in his hands. Teyla blinked back furious tears, and finally turned away to warm her hands at the fire, Beckett's insistent murmurs of confidence soothing her nearly as much as they were intended to soothe John.

Time passed without notice and suddenly Beckett was barking orders to bring a stretcher and the jumper pilot was leaping into the craft to bring the engines up. Teyla and the rest of her team shifted nervously, understanding that John would soon be taken back to Atlantis to receive the full care that amazing facility had to offer, yet still regretting that their friend would be taken from their presence so soon after they'd found him again. The sense of waiting was not released, only...deferred.

The med-evac team was efficient in loading a now-quietly-unconscious John onto the stretcher and he was wrapped in blankets from chin to toes, only the many snaking tubes attached to bags of fluids and medicines providing clues to the damage underneath. The useful brown wool coat lay discarded on the beach, looking more like an outcrop of rock than a garment. Unable to let John go without saying goodbye, Teyla walked assertively into the group of Marines who had picked the stretcher up and stood for a moment at his side, resting her hand on his blanketed shoulder. The escort waited patiently for her, politely looking away.

To her great surprise, John cracked one eye open to look at her and she smiled a winning smile, her own eyes glittering with unshed concern. He chuckled weakly, the sound no more than a soft exhale.

"See you soon," he whispered, very very softly.

"Yes," she breathed in reply, then dropped her head, clutching at him tightly, suddenly and embarrassingly overwhelmed by worry and exhaustion and fear and protective reluctance to let him out of her sight.

He frowned at her discomposure and she rebuked herself for worrying him. She was the one who should be offering comfort!

"Hey," he gasped. "I'm fine...or I will be. Beckett'll figure it all out...put me back together."

It was Teyla's turn to chuckle and she laid her hand across his feverish forehead since she could not touch him with her own. "Of course you will be fine. We will be nearby once you reach Atlantis."

Beckett finally popped his head out of the jumper and bellowed for them to hurry up, so Teyla stepped back, allowing the Marines to continue on to the ship. It began to rise off the forest floor almost before the hatch had hissed shut. She felt Ronon's hand on her shoulder briefly as they all watched the jumper disappear into the inky, starlit sky. Major Neglee was soon dropping jumper 2, their original air support craft, through the same hole in the forest roof, to pick up the search party and return everyone home.

Ronon suddenly grunted in exasperation and stretched his arms over his head in an effort to release tension. "I hate this part," he complained.

"What? Going home?!" asked Rodney in surprise. "Because that's my FAVORITE part of the day."

"No. The waiting part. Beckett's gonna have to cut on Sheppard for hours. I hate that part too."

Teyla nodded, completely understanding his unease. They'd been so focused on rescue for so long that simply standing around and watching others complete the mission of bringing John home just felt...anti-climatic. The feelings unresolved, they watched the Marines kick out the fires, plunging the beach into sudden, starlit darkness, then began to walk slowly towards the circle of warmth cast by the lights spilling out of the open Jumper. Teyla almost decided that she was looking forward to sitting down for a long time in the infirmary. She had walked too many miles under too much stress today.

"Sheppard and I were supposed to run a training class of new arrivals tomorrow," Rodney suddenly blurted out, filling the silence as he so often did with whatever random thoughts happened to be flickering through his head. "He's not going to feel up to it by then."

Ronon shook his head at the ridiculously obvious statement. "Lorne will figure something out, McKay," he said.

"But we were supposed to go to M3X-999 to trade for more fruit and those zucchini things on Friday. Elizabeth is counting on that to manage supplies for the rest of the month!"

"Rodney! John is going to need a lot of time to rest and recover. He's simply going to be unavailable for a while. We will just have to...adjust." Teyla tried to sound as reassuring as she could.

"But what about - "

"McKay. We'll figure something out," Ronon growled, his patience wearing.

"Ok, ok."

They plopped wearily onto the benches in the jumper and Teyla found herself closing her eyes and sagging back against the soft seats as the hatch hummed closed, thinking about John and the day they'd survived together. John had saved himself as much as they had. At the very least, even separated, she realized they had been functioning as an efficient team, each contributing to the solutions, each trusting the others when they needed to be trusted. She suddenly smiled. Carson was part of that team too, perhaps she should trust him as John did. A sudden weight was lifted from her shoulders at the thought and she took a deep quiet breath of relief. She knew that John was still in danger, that his injuries were severe and life-threatening. She was also absolutely certain that Carson could pull him through.

There was a stretch of quiet with only the murmuring of the Marines as they chatted softly among themselves.

Rodney sat leaning over his knees and holding two scanners, one clean, one filthy and bloody, downloading the information from John's into his own. He suddenly looked up and blurted, "Do you think Sheppard will be back on his feet by next Wednesday? Zalenka and I were going to run simulations in the chair room and he said he'd help - "

"RODNEY!" Teyla and Ronon both snapped, in exasperation. Rodney just sighed and slumped back against the bench.

"I know. I'm just...worried about the guy. He didn't look so good on that beach."

Ronon slapped Rodney on the shoulder in a rare display of affection that almost knocked the scientist sideways off the bench. "Sheppard's tough. And stubborn. He'll be back to annoying soon."

Rodney nodded, scrubbing his face with his hands. "What a horrible day. I don't think I've ever been as scared as when we were sitting in the dark cellar with those little kids, just waiting for the bad guys to show up and slaughter us all. Sheppard couldn't stand it. Before I knew what he was up to, he took off, told me to watch after the babies." Rodney snorted. "Like I'm the one you would normally ask to babysit..."

"He's a good man," Ronon said softly, nodding in admiration for his friend.

"And a brave warrior," Teyla added firmly.

"He's smart, too. That trick to get the scanner to broadcast a handshaking request was clever."

Rodney suddenly looked up, horrified. "Don't tell him I said that! Seriously, the last thing any of us needs is Sheppard acting more smug than he already does!"

"I will keep the secret," Teyla said solemnly with a twinkle in her eyes and Rodney relaxed in relief.

Up in front, the jumper pilot began punching the keypad that would dial the Stargate and the group around her began to shift and stretch in anticipation of the journey through the wormhole and home beyond. Teyla remained relaxed against the benches, watching her teammates happily, and thinking about her promise. She smiled to herself, then almost chuckled. She had no need to tell John that he was brave or smart or resourceful, nor any reason to reveal that his friends and teammates thought of him that way.

John Sheppard had already figured that out.

FINI...

* * *

A/n: I did, in fact, do some serious research for this story by allowing my children to bury me in leaves. You really can see a lot through even a deep pile and really be completely hidden. Thanks for reading, and for the notes! They soothe the gloomy winter days to come... 


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